


we're dead and empty, together

by DumbScribbles



Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Amnesia, Complicated Relationships, DreamSMP - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Ghosts, Memory Loss, Open to Interpretation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27718471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DumbScribbles/pseuds/DumbScribbles
Summary: Restless spirits, lives lost to the agonizing pains of war and politics and hatred and betrayal and loneliness."I think I missed you. A lot."
Relationships: Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, Jschlatt/Wilbur Soot
Comments: 4
Kudos: 272





	we're dead and empty, together

**Author's Note:**

> A few things. First, I wrote this as platonic but you can interpret it however you want I guess. Second, these are Wilbur and Schlatt's CHARACTERS on the SMP, not the real people. And last of all for a bit of background, this goes off the concept that all the characters have three lives, and only meaningful deaths count. In my opinion, both of them only had two meaningful deaths of the server, so it's now my hc that their first deaths were drowning in Wilbur's water rising video (even though, yes, I know they didn't actually drown at the end of the video, just let me have this ok?).
> 
> Rated T just to be safe (mentions of death/drowning)

Cold. Dark and empty and cold. Wilbur opens his eyes. He sees stone, crumbling debris, and the star-speckled darkness of the night sky. He's laying flat on his back… where?

Wilbur sits up and looks around. He's in a room, well, half of a room, as it seems the wall has been removed, giving him a nice view of a giant gaping crater. L'manberg. His L'manberg. He doesn't know how he knows that, but he's certain his current view is that of what once was his nation. There… there had been an explosion. Well, obviously, but he remembers it. Remembers the sound of thousands of pounds of dynamite exploding… people screaming...

For some reason, the memory sends a sharp pain straight to his gut, and he instinctively clutches it. He then immediately draws his hand back, mostly in disgust. There's a gash in his stomach. That should scare him, shouldn't it? Wilbur looks down at himself. He's wearing his favorite yellow sweater, but dried blood stains the lower half, and there's a tear right where a smooth, thin line has been cut straight through him. It doesn't hurt. Because he's dead.

Wilbur knows he's dead. His head feels all scrambled and it's making it hard to even remember his own name, but Wilbur knows it. When he breathes, the air doesn't fill his lungs. When he stands up, he feels weightless. When he digs his fingers into his wound, he feels no pain.

Something about the sight of the crater makes Wilbur agitated. A bomb blew a giant hole in his home, and a sword cut a giant hole in him. A grim parallel. He wants to be somewhere comforting, find something familiar… His feet leave the ground, he flies, _wow holy shit this is kind of cool_. There's a complete lack of wind resistance as he glides along. It's hard to concentrate, so Wilbur lets his subconscious guide him through the sky. He looks up at the stars, and he wonders how long it would take to reach them. Could he even fly all the way out there? He doesn't need air now, but he's always been bound to the earth. Even in death, would it be wrong to leave?

Wilbur shakes himself out of his rambling thoughts and now... he's looking at a tree. Is it... nope, just an average looking oak tree. No, it's special, it has to be, it's… no, c'mon, he remembers a name, something-tree… L'mantree! Yes! Wilbur smiles triumphantly. L'mantree, it had stood here through everything, the only original tree left standing from when they first founded this land. Familiar.

Wilbur sits under it, facing away from the crater, and closes his eyes. He tries to let his thoughts flow, like some kind of meditative ritual. Inside his head, it's like he's stumbling through a thick fog, and every now and then he trips over something.

_Wind in my hair… sparing with Techno… A ravine lit by lanterns… Tommy, the annoying one… And Tubbo, the nice one… The van… Revolutions and elections and bloody wars… Phil protecting me… Dying and living again… Sch-_

"Hey, Soot,"

_Schlatt._

In his peripheral vision, Wilbur sees the man walk up and sit next to him, cautious in making sure he's not too close, but close enough. He's wearing a sweater that looks exactly like Wilbur's, except for its blue hue. There's a small burn mark where his heart should lay in his chest. He's dead too, isn't he? Yes, Wilbur had watched him die, very recently… an image of him, collapsed onto the van's floor, panic in his angry eyes, floats around in Wilbur's memories.

Wilbur knows there's a lot to remember about the horned man. It's a lot harder to try and pinpoint certain memories, but he manages to feel both burning hostility and earnest joy when he looks over at Schlatt. The reasons behind either feeling are unknown to him.

Their eyes meet, and Wilbur's brain pops out a memory out of nowhere, a longer one with an unusual amount of detail. And a lot of water. As he soaks it all in, he judges it as a fond memory, and a small smile creeps onto his face. Schlatt looks at him awkwardly, as if he wants to smile back but can't, or at least wants to ask why he smiled. But as he reaches the very end of the memory, Wilbur's smile fades. He knew there had to be more to it. It almost makes him nauseous as he stops recalling both Schlatt's and his own first death.

"I think I missed you. A lot." Wilbur says suddenly, voice flat. At first Schlatt's eyes widen, but they quickly switch to a look of confusion and possibly anger.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"We're friends, aren't we? I remember when the water rose, don't you?," Schlatt's eyes widen again, and Wilbur continues. "We were still laughing and shoving each other around. But the water kept rising. And when it swallowed us, it hurt, not being able to breathe and such. But it was when I saw you, right there next to me in the same pain with nothing I could do, that was when it actually started hurting."

Schlatt just stares at him, stunned, but Wilbur just catches the smile that starts to form as he turns his head away. His ram-like ears twitch, and his voice gives away nothing as he grunts, "You havin' trouble remembering shit?"

"Yeah. But I remember that. I remember you, Schlatt, but I know I'm not remembering enough between us. I feel like I'm not supposed to like you right now, but I don't know why. Did… did we fight?" Schlatt's shoulders stiffen, and he fidgets with his hands nervously.

"Yeah, we fought… it- it wasn't a big deal, I think it was just that the situation may have escalated farther than it needed to. It's not like I hated you or anything. I actually…" he turns his head just slightly, and Wilbur can see the guilty expression on his face. "I missed you too."

The pair are silent. Something bad happened, something awful, and Wilbur knows Schlatt won't tell him, at least not right now. He doesn't feel like he needs to know right now anyway. It's all too overwhelming, all Wilbur wants right now is something comforting, and he's found it. He shifts closer, and when Schlatt doesn't scoot away, he cautiously leans his weightless body over and rests his head on the other's shoulder. After a moment, he feels Schlatt relax and lean back against him.

"You'd leave if you knew… if you remembered more..." Schlatt's voice is so low, Wilbur can barely hear it even though he's literally put his head right next to the other's. A vague feeling of… wrong-ness, that's how he would properly describe it, stirs in Wilbur, and it does make him a little scared. Schlatt sounds scared too, so maybe this is the proper reaction, maybe they're not supposed to be here together.

"It's okay," Wilbur mumbles, closing his eyes, "We're dead now. We're not the same as we were when we lived, so I don't think it matters that much. I mean, this memory loss thing kind of prevents me from caring, but still. Sure, you might've done bad things, I probably did too, but to me it doesn't matter right now. If it matters to you, you don't have to stay with me. I'll admit, I'd rather you stay because I think I quite like you, but go if you please. None of it really matters anymore."

Again, the horned man is rendered speechless, and Wilbur's only left to wonder what he'll decide. Schlatt shifts a bit, and Wilbur's lips bend into a smile as he feels cold fingers slip in between his own. He squeezes, and Schlatt squeezes back. It's nice. He likes it, he likes Schlatt and he doesn't care what alive Wilbur would've thought. To him, right now, this is what's real. He knows it's just his imagination, but Wilbur almost thinks it feels warm.

The cool night air is filled with the sounds of the L'mantree's rustling leaves, the river babbling on, the midnight crickets chirping.

The world is moving along and they're dead and cold but maybe not as empty as they thought they had become.


End file.
